Triptych
by cassandralynnkeith
Summary: A look at relationships, and all the angst that's bound to bring. Plus, you know, slash. JWE


Please, be kind to the lowly ff fanatic, who is finally contibuting her short works to the community she has been a part of for ye gods! really! ten years now. I don't remember it being that long. sheepish grin If'n ya find something I screwed up on, or ye think I need to improve, feel free please please review and tell me.  
  
Triptych - Elizabeth -   
  
I love him because of his innocence.  
  
There arenÕt many men in this world who would call Captain Jack Sparrow innocent. Fewer still who would dare to call him so to his face, and in truth, IÕm not one of them. But innocent he is. Not the innocence of babes, nor the innocence of my former life: all polished shine and thin veneer, no real substance at all. Not naivetŽ or inexperience, but true innocence, wild and free.  
  
HeÕs innocent in the way he looks at the world through a rum filled haze, bellowing a song I should have known better than to teach him. The way he sways along, everywhere, as if all the world was the deck of the ship, and he the captain, and in the way he looks at that blasted broken compass and always follows it, and knows where heÕs going. His innocence is madness, climbing the rigging in the night, singing to the stars and sea.  
  
Will loves him too. I know this: I see it in the way that he talks of him, and the sea, and the Pearl. In the way he makes love to me, or walks along the shore, always watching for the Pearl along the horizon, always with room and love for another. In the way he makes his swords, and trains me to fight so I will never be caught again, and in the way we wait for that knock in the night, or a chorus of a song loved to well by him, to be followed by a night or two of completion and lovemaking stories of adventures exaggerated.  
  
But most of all in the way he treats our daughter.  
  
We cannot live with him. No matter how we might wish it. We know it, and so does he. Will has the blood of pirates in him, and the rhythm of the sea, but he is drawn to home and hearth. To the forgefire. And I may love the adventure, I may crave it, but I cannot abandon my father. IÕve hurt him enough already. We are drawn to our home as he is to the sea - as much as we are drawn to each other, and to friendship and family and freedom.  
  
Our daughter Jacqueline (which turned a few heads, as there is nothing a small town loves more than gossip, and there is little that can be done to exaggerate the tale), beautiful and small and very much ours. She wasnÕt early, and there was no whispers of impropriety. That I was exposed to, anyway. Born a little less than ten months after our (well guarded, over secure, yet still well attended) wedding, as sign of happiness and prosperity to a match that was much maligned.  
  
It hurts my father to look at her, I know. He thinks IÕm a fool, a shamed woman and worse, to a child with such dark eyes and hair and skin, and still hold my head high; to have my child the name sake of a notorious and (as Jack would say, successful) criminal, and still to wear the proud smile of a young mother. But she is his only grandchild, and he will take her, at least for my sake, and not comment. WeÕll give him another shortly. There is no proof, and I am still, while the bride of a common craftsman, the governor's daughter. Even those who suspect my ÔfallenÕ state would dare not question my honor to loudly.   
  
Commodore Norrington, a good man, and I was honored by his love for me, even if it was misplaced, resigned his post and fled back to England after shortly we christened my dark skinned, dark haired girl. IÕve disappointed so many.  
  
It is almost time for dawn now, and my men are in a half slumber, from exhaustion and far more rum than I should allow in my home. They hold each other, having filled in the space I crawled out of to give them time to themselves. They talked of JacquelineÕs latest mastery of swimming (she shows more of her fatherÕs flashy mannerisms everyday, and like him, is more at home in the water than on the land) and of stories of the Pearl, probably at most half true, and of me, though I choose to ignore those bits. Jack twitches a bit, unused to and uncomfortable with the stillness on land. WillÕll begin snoring soon.  
  
I must wake them, and I must not tell them how it pains me. I must send Jack back to his mistress, his crew, and his life. I must not tell him of how fussy Jackie will be, tomorrow, missing someone sheÕs never met, or how despair will color WillÕs face until he returns, or how we will be incomplete, till he returns, with more rum, and stories, and...  
  
I love him because he is innocent. His freedom and devil-may-care, his passion and madness are what give us our ability to ground him and what draws him to us. But with us, here, heÕd be nothing more than a man who was too much. And I will not destroy that I love. 


End file.
